


Mark the Trails of Moths

by ashangel101010



Series: Imperialistic House of Prayer [19]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Foreshadowing, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Yun-Shuno is Armitage Hux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-08-23 20:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashangel101010/pseuds/ashangel101010
Summary: Time is a fragile thing.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in the Star Wars universe or anything in any universe; I just like writing stories in that universe.

Mark the Trails of Moths Prologue

*

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- Bright Dead Star by Current 93

*

            At the death of twilight, Darth Sidious descends from his palace and steals past the field of broken Sith Swords for the shrine that was once lay forgotten by the Jedi above. He carries with him only a crystal ball small enough to fit in a goblin’s hands.

In the center of the shrine is a cauldron for alchemy and scrying; black as the dark and craggy as the Sith Lord before it. Sidious holds the crystal ball with one hand and brings the other to his mouth. He slices his palm open with his incisors and lets the blood seep into the cauldron.

The spell, a flurry of snarls and torn words, bubbles and rolls the crystal back and forth on the withered palm until it crackles with the truest light: lightning.

The crystal reflects with a thousand eyes; blue, green, black, and gold. The eyes do not look at him but behind him. He cranes his head back and sees two moths with white bodies and four pinpricks of green.

They circle around each other in an elliptical motion like they are searching for the flame of death.  

But frost, as cold as Convergence in winter, creeps over their bodies and consumes them.

And then light consumes him.

*


	2. A hummingbird sings, but soon comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Sidious sees how far his House has fallen.

Mark the Trails of Moths Chapter One

*

            _It’s so dark……_

  _The Great Dragon breathed fire…_

_(Sheeva?)_

_Burned time and space…_

_(Where’s Sheeva?)_

**_My son has a son…_ **

_W-Who’s there!?_

*

Armitage Hux opens his eyes and sees his black-robed knees; he unfolds, fully experiencing the stiffness in his legs. He then sees the inky, twinkly darkness of space; no golden eyes flecked with eons or red fire.

The comm lays on the cold grate with a crack in its screen. He leans down and grabs it; he powers it on and sees none of the frequencies he saved into it, not even his uncle’s.

_I have dropped this like a hundred times, and this never happened. Maybe, the fire did this? But it didn’t get inside here. Or maybe it had to do with the white void? But the Great Dragon—_

He feels the sharpness of fear stab into his mind, making his stomach twist with anxious knots. His blue eyes widen and runs to his lab. The door slides open and sees everything in its place.

The qahsa is still running functionally since the sac for his boyfriend’s Familiar remains unbroken. Some of the datapads and hand towels on his desk have fallen to the floor, while his Shaper gloves are in the tuber planter.

He approaches the qahsa and sees that Sheeva is clinging to the back of the golden sac, shivering violently. His Familiar raises their tiny hand and points towards the door to his room.

He moves quietly and slowly to his desk; he slips on the Shaper gloves. He concentrates for a moment and grows the crimson nails out by a few centimeters; the nails’ edges are sharp enough to cut through most flesh, while the teeny-tiny saws can cut through soft metal.  

He reaches his door and it creaks as it slides open.

He sees the pale, craggy face of an old man that paid a price for his relentless ambition. _The_ price will not be paid for many years. He’s wrapped in dark robes that obscure his body, giving him the appearance of Death. And Death is reading his handwritten journal on the Yuuzhan Vong. On his daybed.  

“You’re not a Sith Spirit.”

Darth Sidious’s yellow eyes busy itself with the page.

“You’re not red and you’re able to hold my book.”

The Sith Lord turns the page. Armitage heads to his vanity and picks up the chrono, heart freezing at the time and date displayed: _1800, 5 th standard month, 2nd standard week, 2nd standard day, **13 AFE**_.

“By the One Thousand Eyes, I time-traveled!”

Now, Emperor Palpatine deigns him with a question.  

“Do you remember how?”

_I time-traveled to a point in time where he’s still alive, but is it before Luke blew up the Death Star or just after he started the Empire? Still, I better keep mum about the future, or I could wipe myself from existence. If this a closed-loop timeline. But this could run on multiverse theory…_

“I think the Great Dragon breathed fire right before I jumped into hyperspace. There was a white void and two golden eyes staring at me. I screamed and woke up to you.” Armitage truncates and then tenses when Palpatine doesn’t immediately respond.  

“Your prose is……..lackluster.” Palpatine closes the book and sets it down on the daybed.

“So is your commentary in _Book of Sith_.” Armitage counters without hesitation. He then continues since the Sith Master didn’t strike him with lightning. “Informational, but not as snarky in _The Jedi Path_.”

“I have yet to complete my first volume.” There’s no hot accusation in the Emperor’s words, but Armitage feels a chill go down his spine nonetheless.

 “I’m just offering my opinion……Your Majesty?” _Shit, I do not remember the proper address for him. I believe Vader’s was “M’Lord,” but shouldn’t it be more like “My Lord” because that’s what the upper-class called each other in most mediaeval times. But then again Lords are Sith titles and he doesn’t want his Empire to know he’s a Sith…_

“ _Your Majesty_ is sufficient, and your shields only hold when you will it.”

“My father constructed them when I was like two.”

“And how old was he?” Palpatine inquires curiously; it takes a moment for Armitage to do the math and respond.

“Twenty, couple weeks from turning twenty-one.” Armitage shivers violently after giving his answer at the pressure that Palpatine exerts. The Sith Lord’s ravaged face twists into ruddy crags that threaten to split open and reveal the pinkish muscle tissues beneath.

He breathes again when Palpatine reverts back to his pale, blank face.

“Now, if you would be so kind, give me a tour, Armitage.”   

* 

When he woke on the daybed with its tacky, star-studded sheets, Sidious felt three presences emanating from across the door. One faint enough to be barely Force-sensitive and the other was almost a full-fledged Force-user. And the final one was further away and barely existed in the Force like all Force-nulls. He held no fears of them and chose to investigate where the Force, or possibly, Yun-Shuno sent him.

A quick comb through the room, nearly as big as his walk-in closet in the Palace, revealed to him that it belonged to an organized, overly sentimental, and unfashionable young man. The organization most likely came from his military upbringing: there was an Academy-issued chrono on the nearby nightstand that measured both time and date; it was the Imperial standard time and date of the present.

Holos decorate the rust-colored walls and the white, paint-chipping vanity; they capture the young man in stages. A long-haired, happy child part of an alien crew. A teenage space gypsy traveling exotic locales and flashing his ill-made sword. A young man dressed as Vader’s Yun-Shuno and playing the Goddess in an alien war for an alien lord.

And he turned around to see the next round of saccharine holos, but he saw three that stilled his caustic mind.  

The first has his son, Triclops, as a man with deep scars at his temples and waist-length hair; he’s wearing a frumpy black sweater and _sweatpants_. He’s holding a red-faced newborn in front of an old, peat stove. Love emanates from those emerald eyes, and Sidious knows that the baby is his son’s, and by extension also his.

The second has the young man, certainly Triclops’s newborn, as a toddler in a white sweater and khakis; he sits on a stool reading a book, with a white dragon on its cover, to a round-faced, round-bespectacled woman in a _checkered_ , _flannel_ dress before a roaring fireplace.

The last one has his son dressed in black lace, long-sleeved tunic and slim slacks; crescent-shaped scars ghost the pale chest of his son. Beside him is an older, ginger-haired man with a muscular build reminiscent of Vader’s but far stouter, however, his weathered face sports a beard that neither Vader nor Anakin could ever grow and bright blue eyes; the swamp-green turtleneck hangs off him unlike his dark pants. His son dressed the toddler in a white robe that he smooths with his thin hands. The ginger man has an arm around him like he’s going to kiss his much younger son.

For a split second, he was tempted to burn the ginger man from an otherwise decent holo. He refused to give into his impulsiveness and decided to read _The Yuuzhan Vong Journal of Armitage Hux_. He paused on the chapter entitled, _On Sexual Practices_ , when the young man, _Armitage_ , burst into his room with long-nailed gloves and a black robe.

With wild, long red hair and green, _alien_ tattoos marring his entire body.      

Sidious counted silently to ten in Ancient Sith to prevent himself from Force-choking his future grandson.  

He waited patiently for the young man to gather his wits and even allowed Armitage a jab. He nearly lost his temper when he figured out how young his son was to have had Armitage: eighteen.

_Being a teenage father was not what I had in mind for him. He’s supposed to be my Right Eye, not being a child bride to that man! I cannot allow for that to transpire—_

He broke from his train of thought when he noticed that Armitage was trembling; he nearly sneered in response but chose to calm the young man by requesting for a tour.

The first stop is the lab, and, unlike his grandson, the lab does not disappoint him.

“My lab used to be a medbay as you can see.” Evidence of that can be seen with the desk that used to be a hover-stretcher. There are a stack of datapads and cotton towels atop of the desk, and under it is a box of medical paraphernalia such as IV taps.

“Over there is my _qahsa_ ; it’s like a living computer that helps me _shape_ creations when I combine it with these gloves.” _That only I can use._ Armitage withholds, clearly fearing that Palpatine would do something _nefarious_. He nearly rolls his eyes at his grandson’s paranoia.

“The sac right now contains my boyfriend’s Familiar.” He pauses. “Did you make it to that part of my journal?”

“I got as far as chapter ten.”

“Well, you should just skip that.” A blush threatens to take over Armitage’s tattooed face.

“You described Familiars as close companions, trusted aides, or mentors; you didn’t mention that you could grow them.”

“A traditional Yuuzhan Vong Familiar isn’t, but I got inspired by the Nightwitch version of familiars.” _They can summon spirits in animal forms through a totem. And he found the way to bridge the two. And the sac glows with power in the Force, almost like young Anakin did._

“Yours doesn’t appear sociable.” Armitage’s Familiar clings to the back of the sac, showing only its tiny, pale hands.

“It’s okay, Sheeva, Sheev Palpatine here isn’t going to murder us.”

“ _Sheeva?_ ” Sidious wrinkles his nose in disgust, while Armitage smiles at him.

“I really liked your name, short and easy to add an _‘a’_ at the end!” Sheeva relents and releases its hold on the sac. It flutters towards them with its moth wings. It has a puff of red hair with thick, curling eyebrows and pupil-less golden eyes. It wore no clothes because it has no genitalia to hide.   

“His face is like yours; did you cross yourself with a moth?” Armitage nods with approval.

“They’re half Umbaran vampire moth!”

“Do they subsist on blood?”

“Mostly, but I’ve been able to feed them little bits of fruits.” Sheeva decides to make a nest of Armitage’s head; it sits cross-legged and observes them.

“And what is the one in sac made of?”

“Half is my boyfriend, while the other half is carrier butterfly!” Armitage brims with paternal pride. “It’ll be a long time before they’re born.”

“It only takes six days for carrier butterfly larvae to hatch.” Sidious points out.

“I would prefer for my boyfriend to bond with them.” Armitage’s jaw tenses as though he’s hiding a secret.

“Your boyfriend must have a high midichlorian count; this embryo is strong with the Force.” _I can get nothing by him._ Armitage thinks, and Sidious nearly graces him with a sharp smirk.  

“Which is why I want my boyfriend to be here for their birth; he would be able to…..” Doubt darken those bright blue eyes into a watery storm. “Understand them.”

“But your….Sheeva is Force-sensitive and you appear to have no problems in raising them.”

“Perhaps I should correct myself, I should have said that he needs them.” _More than me._ Sidious feels the cocktail of vexation, guilt, and the saccharine notes of love from his grandson. He would gag if he were this young man’s age, but he’s mature enough to use such light volatility to his advantage.

“Why isn’t he here with you?” Armitage smiles and brings a finger up to his own thin lips.

“Now that would be spoilers, Your Majesty.”

*

Sheeva will regard their namesake with practical fear for the rest of their life.

At the very beginning of this venture, Sheev’s anger nearly suffocated them to death; Kylo’s/Matt’s anger was like a light drizzle compared to the raging storm that the Sith Lord displayed for only the briefest of seconds. But he reined his anger in, refusing to give it any quarter.

Kylo/Matt built and furnished a palace for his, letting his anger tear up the carpet and his remorse peel the wallpaper. Love roams the halls.  

The undercurrent of fear roils from Sheeva’s curiosity about Sheev’s durasteel command of his emotions. From their Creator’s stories, Sith Lords thrive on their emotions, their passions, while the Jedi thrive on restraint. Both, particularly the Jedi, clamor for balance, but both are extremes that will never balance. Like the Skesis and the Mystics.

They wonder why the Sith Lord bothers to exercise such restraint that seems antithetical to his nature.

As the tour progresses, Sheeva keeps his Force clean of any emotions just like his ruined face. The guest quarters, which used to be the crew quarters, elicit no outbursts nor do the tiny kitchen and laundry room.

It isn’t until they reach the cockpit that Sheev lets a sliver of a pale blue curiosity color his gray aura. Sheeva furrows their fuzzy brows, trying to figure out his plot because Sith Lords are always plotting something horrible.

“Is your navicomputer up to date?” Their Creator checks the navi, an ancient thing with a clunky viewscreen, and frowns.

“Of course, it’s only up to date for this point of time…” He then checks in the drawer under it and pulls out some star charts. “Same with the star charts!”

“It cannot project.” Less of a question and more rhetorical, but their Creator nods nonetheless.

“Nope, sire told me this ship was from the Sith Wars, but it was probably built long before then. However, the hyperdrive is still functional.” Those yellow eyes look at the tiny part marked _“Sith Worlds”_ and his aura darkens. Not from anger, but something akin to mystery.

“I was outside the Raxus system, so we should be able to fly to Raxus and the Imperials there would be able to–”

“No, we shall not go there.” Their Creator blinks, wondering brightly what the old man was planning.

“Then where, Your Majesty?”

“First, Ziost.”

“Um, what about running your Empire?” Sheev waves away his concern with a gnarled hand of spidery fingers.

“It can survive a few days. I could use a _lark_.” Their Creator scrunches up his thick brows, estimating the cost it will have to the timeline. Or the parallel universe.

“Fine, but only a couple of days, and you can’t ask me about the future.”

“I won’t need to.” Sheev dryly states, while their Creator sighs and prepares the ship for hyperdrive.

Sheev looks at them with his yellow eyes, while Sheeva stares right back and braves the void. But the bravado only lasts for a few seconds, and they flutter back to their Creator. Shivering like the Force surrounding them.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Comments: No links this time. 
> 
> I latched onto the theory that Armitage Hux was directly related to Emperor Palpatine quite early on; mostly because it added something interesting to his otherwise bland New Canon self. Anyways, I’d imagine that Palpatine would be utterly horrified at the state of his family. I doubt Palps would approve of his fully-tattooed, space-hippie grandson in any universe. So you bet his sweet ass that he’s going to change all of that.
> 
> And Kylo/Matt/Ben will factor back in the story, but no time soon. Vader and Eos are sirs not appearing in this chapter. And for the next couple. 
> 
> Next chapter: Sidious ponders where (and when) in the Seven Sith Hells he went wrong with Triclops, Armitage does his best to keep mum about important events in the future, while Sheeva tries to unravel Sheev’s plot.


	3. Bye bye blackbird, a harsh night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some adventure on Ziost.

Mark the Trails of Moths Chapter Two

**

            Darth Sidious sifts through his grandson’s meager closet at a speed that most would attribute to the Force. It’s actually from decades of experience in going through his own closets to assess which clothes would need to be tossed out or stored away when they came into fashion again. But Armitage’s entire closet deserves to be burned with the refuse.

_Skirts, midriffs, sandals…this can’t be where fashion is heading. Most of these clothes have had their holes clumsily stitched up, so he’s inherited these clothes. Most likely from that man._

Sidious rubs the red oozhith between his thumb and forefinger, soft like shimmersilk but it _breathes_. Yet, there’s no bright shine of life.

_It truly is from a galaxy where the Force does not exist, or, perhaps, where the Force died and life continued on its merry way._

His right hand wanders up to the decorative headdress, feeling the coral and then tracing the three sets of eyes.

_Yun-Shuno. The Goddess of Forgiveness who he pretended to be to exalt the Shamed Ones and rally several alien species together in order to save the unwitting galaxy. A Force-null accomplished a feat that not even my Chosen One could do in his youth._

His golden eyes flick downward and spies a storage cube; he unlocks it and finds pants, blessedly plain pants, and long-sleeved shirts. He selects a few and lays the chosen on the bed to give an illusion of choice for the boy.

_He’ll choose the black ensemble if he has any sense, but the emerald one would be sufficient. And it would match his alien tattoos……I need to do something about those; they make him such an obvious target, even in the dark._

His golden eyes linger on the family holo; his grown son, scarred deeply at the temples, smiles serenely, but those green eyes burn him like frostbite. He turns and leaves the room before he does something impulsive.

The floor chatters with its rusted pipes as he silently moves through the dull halls. In the Force, he can sense Sheeva, an interesting if poorly-named pet of his grandson, on its guard as though it expects Sidious to go mad and chop them into bits. He sneers at the creature’s poor imagination for a moment, but then colors his aura with thoughtfulness. Sheeva shivers in the Force and moves quickly away from its hiding place and straight to its creator.

_It reacts as any child would when endangered; Armitage needs to train the paranoia out of it, but I doubt he ever would. He spoils it like any parent would and can’t bear to hurt him, even for its own good. Perhaps, the parent and child need to be separated for their own good, but not now._

He frowns, not liking this newfound _protective_ feeling welling inside him like pus in boils. It reminds him of another time when he visited Dromund Kaas for his son’s sixth life day and found his third eye swollen shut. He remembers the feeling dwindling when he used Supreme Prophet Kadann as a lightning rod for an hour and had Triclops watch. Triclops smiled for the entire hour.  

_Where did the Prophets go wrong for him to run away and be the leman of a man nearly twenty years his senior? Have they been beating him for minor transgressions too often? Or did he become fed up with the limits placed upon him and decided to make his own destiny? Humph! He made so many poor choices!_

He turns the corner and heads straight for one of the poor choices. The kitchenette, or _petite kitchen_ as Armitage charmingly proclaimed it on the tour, has a round holo-table that doubles as the dining room table. The oak chairs have red cushions that Armitage claims were gifts from the Ghostling royal family. Armitage is sitting cross-legged in a chair and has a mischievous gleam in his green eyes. The familiar is sitting on his left shoulder and looks at him warily with its golden eyes.

“I made dinner!” The dinner is a reddish soup with bread chunks in a red clay bowls with small plates of sausages beside the bowls. The spoons shine dully like most faux silverware tend to do. Two clear cups with an hourglass-shaped, pink bottle are at the center of the table.  

“It’s 2000.”

“It’s a late dinner!” His jovial tone reminds him of Kinman, but Kinman isn’t bold enough to jest with him anymore.

“I made bread soup and chicken sausages.” The young man chatters on, “I was going to make a salad, but I didn’t think that would provide us the energy needed for this visit.”

“How much foodstuffs do you have left?” He takes his place across his grandson and his disgruntled familiar.

“About a month in fresh food, but three months in ration bars.”

“I understand that none of the…….flora you’re growing is edible.” _And he can’t use the qahsa to generate foodstuffs, except the seeds for it. It’s still a marvelous invention with endless potential._

“Most of them would be poisonous for our species. So when we disembark, I’m going to do a bit of foraging, and you can do whatever you were planning to do there.” He picks up a chicken link and bites into it before continuing. “Sheeva will go with you.”

Sheeva’s tiny frown deepens, but it resists crossing its arm and huffing like a melodramatic teenager.   

“Why would they need to?”

“You’re probably going to a Sith temple and maybe the temple has a bunch of small tubes; Sheeva can go through the tubes.”

_Stupidity is a genetic trait found on that man’s side of the family! Armitage is important for the future Yuuzhan Vong War, but I doubt that man is. I just need to learn his identity and take genetic samples from him, and then dispose of him for the good of the future. Hux is Armitage’s surname and it’s more than likely he inherited from that man._

“I suppose he could.” He picks up the spoon and ponders if he really should eat what his grandson has cooked up. He puts the spoon down and pours out some of the liquid of the pink bottle into a cup. He brings the cup up to his lips and checks for poison.

“It’s the Warlord’s finest rice wine! I was saving it for……….a celebration.”

“And that would be?”

“My boyfriend’s return.” He frowns slightly at his own hesitation.

_Another mistake that needs correction._

Sidious takes a sip of the wine and marvels at the delicacy with notes of sweetness. He wonders if this is supposed to complement the soup and sausages in taste rather than color. He’ll have a small sampling of this rustic meal to satisfy his minor curiosity.  

“The wine is fine.”

Armitage beams like the silly child that Triclops never was.

*

The _Queen Izrina_ lands in New Adasta, the capital city of the old Sith capital world, for it’s the only city left mostly intact. The tundra has claimed nearly 70% of the arid world and will continue to do so until the heat death of the universe.

Armitage sees a park while landing with gnarled, dark trees. He theorizes the trees lived only because of Sith botany. From all the tomes, scrolls, and sometimes Sith Spirits he consulted, botany was nowhere near as revered as alchemy, but it was appreciated for the natural poisons it can produce. On this excursion, he hopes to acquire some bark, and possibly seeds, and give it a thorough examination.

_Considering how the planet is still breathable, the trees must’ve been designed to generate oxygen no matter what. If I can crack the code of such resilience, I can have Kylo/Matt/Ben possibly recreate such a tree with me!_

He smiles toothily at the prospect of a doing a “couple project,” and barely catches the hard look in those golden eyes.

_He’s so much like Millicent! Scarred, loathes nearly everyone, loves to play with his prey, and a ginger. Actually, he has the same kind of affectionate disgust for me. Although, I think most of the disgust is because of the amphistaff._

“My belt is quite fashionable amongst the Vong.” He teases. Palpatine’s thin mouth nearly curl into a sneer, but, with all the dignity of the aforementioned cat, he keeps his disdain hidden. The head of his belt keeps one goggle-eye on the Emperor.    

“I prefer it as a staff.” The Emperor remarks dryly.

_Ooo, I offended his Naboo sensibilities! I wonder how many times I’ll do that before the ramp hits the ground. Maybe thrice?_

“Cedric’s been a staff for five years; he needs the change!”

“Naming is not your forte, I do worry for your future child.”

“Well, if I ever get that lucky in the future, I would like to name the kid _Eos_. It’s short and gender-neutral!” Palpatine stiffens as though he’s remembered something problematic, but he relaxes a moment later like he’s already found the solution.

“ _Eos_ is one of the names given to the _dawn_ and regularly used in the female sense.”

“Maybe in the commoner’s Futhork, but Futhark makes it gender-fluid.” He half expects the Emperor to glare at him, questioning his intelligence again. Yet, the old, ruined man’s lips twist upwards in a simulacrum of a smile. He half expects the smile to make the ravaged face bleed.

“Lend me your arm for but a moment.” The Emperor softly commands.

“Okay.” Armitage holds out his right arm, and Palpatine doesn’t take it immediately. Once the ramp clunks against the vine-encrusted duracrete, Palpatine takes his arm with both hands.

_So cold._

Sheeva shivers violently.

*

“Captain, two civilians made landfall. Both are human males.”

_“Assess their worth.”_

“There’s a ginger man decorated in green tattoos from head to toe. He’s dressed in black clothes, most likely cotton, with dark leather boots. He has a belt with a novelty giant snake head. He’s also got a small pack, probably rations and maybe a blaster. He should be worth an easy 50,000 credits if all of his organs are healthy. The other male is an old man with a face that’s been through a hundred lightwhips. He’s wearing a blue-black cloak, probably made of zeyd cloth. He’s got some kind of wistie with him, probably his seeing-eye pet. I’d say he’s 5,000. Maybe 5,500 if you include the pet.”

_“Why’d you think they’re here?”_

“I doubt they’re here for the amulet. Considering the rust heap they just come out of, they might be searching for fuel. And that rust heap might be worth 100,000.”

_“Even if we don’t find the amulet, we’ll still make a profit from this poodoo heap!”_

“Yes, and they just split up. The ginger is heading towards the park, while the old man is heading your way. Senile fool is probably looking for a bench!”

_“Have the neks tail the ginger but don’t let them go berserk.”_

“And don’t fill the old man with blaster holes.”

_“It was the one time, and only the brain was worth anything. Hopefully, this one still has a working liver.”_

“Yes, yes, when should we rendezvous?”

_“Two hours.”_

“Understood, Captain.”

*

Sheeva hovers behind Sheev, still shivering like the ruined man touched them. They couldn’t understand why their Creator continues to trust Sheev. Can he not feel the cold evil oozing out from this man’s slight form? Can he not see the malice in those golden eyes, threatening to burn everything? Can he not hear the gnashing manipulation in his soothing baritone? They know that their Creator is not all powerful, but they thought he was born with common sense like them.

_Creator is too trusting. He believes that Sheev won’t harm us because we’re the future. A closed loop. Maybe. Time-travel is confusing, and there isn’t any nonfictional sources to rely on. And even the fictional ones are rarely consistent. X-Men is notorious for this._

But Sheev has yet to offer his own theories. Perhaps, the Sith have never found a way to time-travel for if they did, would any of this be happening?

_Unless, this is all opened. Our future is another reality, another dimension, another timeline because of our actions in the past. But what if this is all something worst? Something broken and decayed like the toppled skyscrapers. What if we can’t return to our time? What if we’re trapped with this Sith Emperor until the end of all time!?_

“What a depressing little thing you are.” Sheev comments after what felt like an eternity of silence in the ruined capital. Sheeva has no idea where Sheev is leading them, but they follow him. They could’ve just tagged along their Creator, but their Creator has this knack of finding them. They blame their bond.

 _“And you’re the epitome of evil.”_ Sheeva wishes they could speak, but his Umbaran Vampire Moth genetics don’t allow for speech. So they stick out their tapered tongue in response.

“And childish too.” Sheev’s blasé attitude further aggravates them. They want to rake their claws against the man’s facial fissures, but their mind reminds them that such impulsiveness will most likely end in their demise. And if they died, they would be leaving their Creator and the unborn familiar in Sheev’s spidery hands.

_What can I do really? Creator says I’m an empath, but I can’t alter people’s moods like some superheroes. “You can figure out how to deal with people.” Creator lightly teased. But how can I deal with the Emperor? He keeps his feelings buried under an impossibly dark aura that even nine suns couldn’t penetrate. At best, I can only guess his mood from his words, and he appears to be in a dry mood._

They halt in their fluttering and descend a couple of centimeters; they caught the moods of four nearby individuals. Violent reds and greedy jades colored their moods, which means this group intends to harm them. Most likely, they are pirates that were hiding out on this abandoned planet, believing that no one would come here.

If Sheeva were with their Creator, then they would warn him. However, since Sheev is the Sith Lord Above All, then he would sense them. Especially since their moods would easily amplify their thoughts.

Sheev stops his walking, a few meters from a half-destroyed covered bridge. One of the individuals, a fair-haired Bothan, comes out of the shadows of the covered part of the bride and plants a booted foot on the ledge like he’s going to tie his shoe.

“Well, well, the fly came to the spider.” Sheeva gags at the Bothan’s piss-yellow overconfidence, and then they sigh as his cronies predictably come out from under the bridge with their blasters out. The cronies are a green Rodian with every fifth scale painted blue, a human with a giant hoop earring, and another human wearing a TIE fighter helmet flecked with blood.

Sheev does not comment on the hokey nature of their situation. He raises his right arm until it’s nearly perpendicular to his body and then outstretches his hand. He half curls his fingers as though he’s caught something ethereal and waiting for the right moment to crush it. Sheeva wait with bated breath.

“What is it, old man? Tusk cat got your–”

Sheev brings his arm down in one fell swoop.

**_CRACK!_ **

**_SMASH!_ **

The bridge collapses and crushes them like roach-rats. Only the Bothan’s booted leg is recognizable in the aftermath; it twitches for a few moments before stilling forever. Sheeva shoot forward past Sheev and turns to face him. Sheev’s face isn’t contorted in cartoonish glee like they imagined it would be. Rather, Sheev’s face is completely relaxed and those golden eyes are nearly glassed over.

_He’s bored!? He just killed four people in one shot! Then again, he didn’t do it in a brutal manner. Their deaths were quick and they certainly didn’t see it coming. He was almost merciful…_

“What were you expecting? Their limbs cleaved from their sockets? My blade dicing them into atom-sized pieces? Me gloating over their corpses and topping it all off with an evil laugh?” He mocks. Sheeva feel hot anger flush their cheeks and ball up their hands to stop themselves from acting out in anger.

“Good, never let your anger rule you. Bend it to your will and strike when the time is right.” Sheev advises in a soft tone that reminds them of their Creator’s when he was imparting a lesson. Sheeva pull at the ends of their bushy brows and wish they could scream.

*

Armitage finds two of the gnarled dark trees guarding the park’s entryway. He smiles briefly at his luck and decides to get a bark sample. However, the instant the tips of his fingers touched the bark; he pulls them back at the shocking zap from the tree.

_Perhaps, this is just a self-defense mechanism for the trees? It felt more like a warning because Sith alchemy would’ve inspired deadlier results than two seconds of minor pain. What if it was a random discharge?_

Armitage goes to touch the bark again and receives a much stronger reaction that causes him to nearly curse aloud.  

_Yup, the first one was a minor warning; this one felt more like a final one. Have they’ve been designed to not allow Force nulls to mess with them? Possibly. I might need to get Palpatine; he might be able to bend the trees to his will._

He gives up on the trees for now and walks past them. The park itself has browning grass and meter-high weeds, but he sees no other notable flora other than the ring of trees. He sighs and then turns around when he hears a canine-like growl. He sees a pack of meter-high neks; neks are stocky, four-legged mammals with yellow fur and sharp teeth. However, these neks didn’t come from Lothal, but rather from Cyborrea since they’re outfitted with silver armor plates and cybernetic helms.

_Juggernaut’s dome is more dignified than the ones these poor neks are forced to wear. Most likely, their dome helmets are controlling them and not for head-butting. And the control-master will appear in 3, 2, 1…_

Armitage cannot stop the shiver of disgust shoot through him at the Chev’s lidless, violet eyes. He figures his disgust stems from the fact that the Chev are Near-Humans that could pass as human if not for their lidless eyes and pronounced brow ridges.  

“If you run, my neks will catch you and _tear_ you apart.” Armitage knows that neks like to kill whatever runs away from them. But not _towards_ them. He taps on Cedric’s head, and he goes on the offensive. He slithers down and makes himself into a staff again.

“What the kark–” Those are the Chev’s last words as the amphistaff sprays him directly in his violet eyes with noxious venom. The Chev lets out an inhuman scream of natural agony and runs away from them, causing the neks to chase after him and quickly tear him apart.

“Well, Cedric, up to freeing some neks from their slave helmets?” Armitage asks with a wryly grin. His amphistaff softens his neck scales so he can nod.

*

When Armitage returns to his ship, he is mildly surprised that Palpatine and Sheeva are there. Sheeva are feeling the sac as though they expect a kick; Armitage smiles and keeps going to his room. The Sith Lord and Galactic Emperor is meditating on the floor of Armitage’s room. His hands have a golden necklace with a purple, triangular stone. He immediately concludes that it’s a Sith amulet and hopes it’s nothing too deadly.

“So do you know what it does?”

“This is the Amulet of Kalara; it supposedly renders its user invisible in the Force.” Palpatine answers with a bored sigh.

“It’s pretty much useless to you, isn’t it?” Armitage knows that if Palpatine can spend decades fooling the Jedi as Force-null politician, then why would he need such an artifact?

“It is, but I can add it to my collection.” Palpatine gives an elegant shrug and stuffs the amulet into a hidden pocket of his robe.

“Is there anywhere else you want to go, Your Majesty?”

“Dromund Kaas.” Palpatine replies and returns to meditating. Armitage sighs and heads to the cockpit to fulfill the order, wondering if the Emperor ever wants to go back home.  

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Comments: No links this time. 
> 
> By the way, the nameless pirates on Ziost actually comes from Legends/EU. Ben Skywalker, the only child of Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade, went to Ziost to get the amulet that supposedly cloaks the wearer in the Force because Jacen Solo, one of the sons of Han and Leia, told him to, not knowing that Jacen was testing him to be his future Sith apprentice. He gets ambushed by the crew of the Boneyard Rendezvous and intentionally kills two them with this kick ass Sith Meditation Sphere, and maybe unintentionally kills one, and one of them got away. The crew does have names: Byalfin Dyur the Bothan captain, Ovvit the Chev, Keldan the one with the TIE fighter helmet, Hirrtu the Rodian, and Myrat’ur the human. I actually don’t know if the last one is human because the Wookie doesn’t list his species, so I just presumed. 
> 
> I went back and forth on this chapter, but I finally settled on what to do. 
> 
> Next chapter: Sidious tests the reality of time-travel while also attempting to be a good father.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Comments- There are no links this time. 
> 
> This has to be one of my shortest prologues that I’ve typed up. At least in recent memory. Originally, this was all supposed to be a direct continuation of Princess Eos’s storyline and how he finds Armitage. However, I decided to begin this new part of the series with Sidious and his first interaction with Yun-Shuno. Don’t worry he’s not dead. 
> 
> Next chapter should be direct continuation of this one with a little Eos and Vader fluff thrown in.


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